


it's fingerlengths that i see

by tosca1390



Category: Psy-Changeling - Nalini Singh
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:24:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Hmm,” Mercy says from her precarious perch. “Interesting.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>From beneath her, Riley glowers darkly. His hands settle on her bare thighs, warm and possessive. “Mercy.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Shut up, I’m thinking,” she says with a slight smirk.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's fingerlengths that i see

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Winter Book Ficathon](http://empressearwig.livejournal.com/654297.html). For Jordan and Jess.

*

“Hmm,” Mercy says from her precarious perch. “Interesting.”

From beneath her, Riley glowers darkly. His hands settle on her bare thighs, warm and possessive. “Mercy.”

“Shut up, I’m thinking,” she says with a slight smirk. Her bandages removed, with just lingering yellow mottled bruises along her ribs and abdomen, she feels just like new. Perhaps better, considering. The mating bond is a rush of energy in all manners. It’s made the healing process a more delightful one. 

She isn’t totally sure Riley feels the same. But he is in a cast. It makes for a lot of difficulties. 

Like tonight’s.

“You need to – kitty cat, I need you to move,” he grounds out, jaw taut. His voice is thick with need as she merely lingers in her straddle over his waist, tantalizingly close to where he wants her. 

Smiling, she leans down to press her mouth to his throat. Long gold-burnished red waves slide over her shoulders, shadowing their faces as she licks at the jumping pulse in his throat. “When the hell will I ever have you so confined again?” she asks playfully, nuzzling the line of his jaw. 

His hands slide up her thighs, fingertips curving under the silk of her panties. “Never,” he all but growls. 

Her heart stutters. “God, I hope so,” she murmurs, her hands digging into his tense shoulders. She never wants him so close to danger again. Even as she thinks it, as she has multiple times through their week of forced recuperation, she knows it’s a messy proposition; they are sentinel and lieutenant, and they are born for danger. It’s inherent in the job. She would never want to hold him back, just as he never will hold her back in return. 

Still. It isn’t a pleasant thought. 

His eyes settle on hers, warm and full of the wolf. “Worried for me?” he murmurs. 

She bites at his jaw in retaliation. A moan rumbles in his chest under her. “Maybe not, then.”

“You idiot,” she says, voice full of affection. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m yours,” he corrects, dark lashes hooding his gaze. And then, he rips the panties from her in a quick slide of claw and the slide of silk over her skin. 

Stifling a gasp, she twists her mouth into a grin. “You know it.” And then she shifts downwards, her mouth biting and licking at his broad, dark-furred chest. 

Hands slide up to gather her hand in his fingers, a warm heady grip she loves. Humming, she licks at one flat nipple and enjoys the shudder that quivers through him. She is already wet and slick for him, her skin sliding against his bare thigh. Always wary of his plascast, she makes her way with tongue and touch along the delineated lines of his abdomen, the point of his hipbone. She’ll never get tired of this, of the implacability of his muscle and bone paired with the soft touch he employs on her hair. 

Her hair drags silkily over his erection and he all but shouts with it, a low wrecked hiss of breath. 

Pausing, she rests her chin on his hipbone and raises a curious eyebrow. “Really?”

“Christ, Mercy – “ he grits out as she reaches out, wraps her fingers around him with thick strands of hair caught between her grip and his skin. He moans again, the immoveable man. She smiles and sucks a bruise of a kiss into his hip, licks the crease of his thigh as her hands move and her hair slides everywhere. He is shaking under her touch and she, careful of his leg, keeps them steady and straight in the middle of the bed. It is a negotiation to slip her hand away and to support her weight on her hands as she sinks down onto him, but the hungry sound that rips from his throat is worth it. 

Later, she stretches out lazily next to him. His hand strokes through her hair, down the line of her spine. Up and down, just as she likes it. 

“I’ll get you,” he says, voice low and hoarse. His dark eyes gleam with deadly promise that makes her shiver. 

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” she drawls, crawling over to kiss his straight line of a mouth. It curves under her touch, and she is free in her delight and her love for him.

*


End file.
